


Appearances can be Deceiving

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-08
Updated: 1999-05-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:58:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray and Fraser are investigating a mysterious death, that is somehow linked to Fraser's new landlady.





	Appearances can be Deceiving

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Appearances Can Be Deceiving

 

****

Appearances Can Be Deceiving

 

Heat was coming off of the street in waves as the green Riviera pulled to a halt in front of the rundown, inner city building. Lethargic bystanders glanced at the slender Italian that emerged and then glanced away again, unmoved by him or his brightly colored silk shirt and baggy slacks. Pulling at the front of his shirt to let a little air in and adjusting his sunglasses, he bounded up the steps and entered the building.

Poor lighting and ventilation made the dilapidated hallway dark and musty-smelling, but no cooler in the sweltering August heat. The Italian removed his sunglasses and stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light, glancing around the building and finally settling on a young lady that stood waiting in front of the open door to the first apartment on the ground floor. Her brown hair was clipped back at the nape of her neck and she was dressed in a black silk blouse over a dark-patterned crinkled skirt that ended just over pale, sandalled feet. Her young brow was tense as she seemed engrossed by the brownish water trickling down the wall near her, but it lightened up the second she adjusted her gaze in his direction. Immediately, a smile creased her face and she approached him with an outstretched hand.

"Hello!" she greeted with a warm, smooth voice that had the enunciation of a sophisticate but traces of the light, almost musical lilt of someone from the more southern regions of the country. "I'm sorry, I was a little distracted there. Do you live here? My name's Anna Peterson. What's yours?"

A smirking sort of half-smile blessed his lips as he met her outstretched hand in a tepid gesture and answered, "Ray Vecchio, and I'm just visiting a friend."

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you all the same, Ray Vecchio," she said, then she turned away as the owner of the open apartment cleared his throat behind her.

"I got the records you wanted," said the man in a slightly nasal voice heavy with the tones of Chicago in it, running his hand through thin, greasy hair. "You wanna come in and see them?"

"Oh, yes," she said, then turned quickly back to Ray and smiling briefly, said, "it was nice meeting you." Then she disappeared into the apartment. Ray shook his head and headed up the stairs: two flights to the third floor in the blistering heat, with the third floor even warmer than the lowest from the collecting, rising heat. Electric fans could be heard behind every door he passed down to the end of the hall where he knocked briefly. 

"Hey Benny, how ya doing in there?" The door was opened abruptly by a tall, broad-shouldered man with a pelt of dark hair, dressed in dark blue slacks with a broad yellow band down the sides, light brown short-sleeved shirt and a pair of thick, dark suspenders. Composure on his strong, smooth features was cool, but his glistening brow and undone top button belied his struggles with the unfamiliar heat.

"It's sweltering, Ray. I have yet to understand the appeal of such a climate."

Ray shrugged. "Hey, not everyone fits in the Great White North. Some would say there are too many wolves." A grey-white lupine, which had trotted up behind Ben in the course of the conversation, growled and gave a little bark, then went back to panting. "Hey," said Ray, suddenly pointing a finger at the wolf, "if you didn't put on so much insulation from stolen pastries, maybe you wouldn't be suffering so much from this heat wave." The wolf turned away with a snuffle and parked himself once again at the foot of the small bed behind the door. Ben followed him in, and Ray followed just enough to be seen easily.

"No, Benny, seriously, I came down to see if you wanted tocome down to the station with me."

Ben turned his head to his friend. "You have a case?"

Ray shrugged. "Well, I got some hunches. And, more importantly, they just fixed the A/C down at the department."

 Ben was suddenly back at the door, picking up a brownuniform jacket from the counter next to the door, glancing at it doubtfully, then apparently deciding to keep it.

"Dief, come," he said to the wolf, who joined him at the door as they stepped quickly out and shut the door behind them. Ray laughed before he followed them down the stairs.

 "I thought that'd get ya."

"Ray, this just looks like a typical car fatality." Looking much more at ease in the police office area, Ben put the papers describing the incident back neatly onto the somewhat cluttered desk in front of his friend, who sat up in the chair across from him and shook his head.

"No, that's too convenient. Leonard Barrows was a car aficionado, bought and sold and drove the best. And it makes it even more suspicious that he was worth millions."

 Ben's mouth turned down and his eyebrows went up. "It's true that that may have been an unusual, even suspicious, occurrence, Ray. But we can't assume that every accident that claims the life of a wealthy individual is based in criminal actions."

 Ray leaned intently forward in his chair and spoke in a low voice, forcing Ben to mimic his actions. "Maybe not. But this guy was up to his GILLS in criminal actions. Extortion, illegal gambling, graft, you name it. And you know what they say about honour among thieves."

Ben's eyebrows went up and he blinked twice. "You have evidence, then?"

Ray leaned back again, expelling air in a gesture of frustration. "No. That's my problem. I KNOW there is something here, I can feel it in my bones, but I can't find anything."

Ben's mouth pursed thoughtfully. "Who would stand to benefit the most from his death? Did he have a life insurance policy?"

 Ray shook his head. "The guy was a widower. Had three kids, all grown. No life insurance, he probably knew better. Business associates would inherit the business, which would be quite a haul, but from what I hear on the street, most of his business info went down with him."

"So his children, perhaps? Though, no, they wouldn't turn on their father like that."

Ray paused, staring at Ben incredulously from the corner ofhis eye. "Well, let's stretch the imagination, then, after all, this is Chicago. But I hear they were pretty put out, with the way the will was divided: I don't think they ended up with as much as they wanted."

"Money never satisfies by itself, Ray. But if there were another person or persons in the will, who could it be?"

Ray shrugged. "The papers said he left a huge chunk to various local charities, but I don't think that accounts for it all, and his attorney won't tell me a thing."

Ben nodded. "Hmm," he said, then stood and picked up his jacket. "This will probably require some footwork, then."

Ray smiled and stood. "Thought you'd see it my way."

A loud banging moved down the wall, from floor to ceiling, then stopped. There was a few moments silence, then the noise started again further across the room. Sunlight filtered faintly into the small apartment between the cracks in the dark paper taped to the windows, casting lines on the auburn-haired woman in the bed who had pulled her pillow over her head when the noise came the second time.

A large, orange cat hopped lithely up to comment on the noise with a meow, but the young woman just groaned and pushed the cat off the bed again. Silence. Then footsteps, a gentle, female voice counterpoint to a heavier, accented male voice outside in the hall, and the pounding resumed again, right over the bed. With a deep-throated cry of frustration, she threw back the sheet she was covered in, stoodup abruptly and stomped to the door with a noticeable limp.

When she flung open the door, the young woman in the hall gasped and covered her mouth with her fingertips. "Oh, Marie-Claire! I'm sorry! We were making too much noise,and I forgot that you sleep in the daytime. We will be quieter."

The stocky, dark skinned man with her paused his hammering to turn and look, allowing Marie-Claire to read the "Tony's Renovations" on the front of his shirt. Her left eye twitched and she glanced down the hall, to see the rest of her neighbours also standing at their doors, watching. She took a deep breath and visibly, though with a conscious effort, relaxed and forced a small smile. "I'd appreciate that."

 The young woman smiled back at her, and Marie-Claire turned back inside her apartment, shut the door loudly, and went straight to bed, covering her head with her pillow again.

 After a few minutes, though, the pillow came back off and she picked up her alarm clock to glare at it with bleary eyes and groan. "8:20," she hissed and sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. The cat jumped up again, purring and pressing his head under her hand until she petted him, looking at him oddly.

"Do you know what's going on out there, Perceval?" she asked him. He continued purring, and she stood up, forcing him to jump to the floor. "Let's go find out."

She opened her apartment door to find the young woman gone and her neighbours whispering in the hall while occasionally glancing through the mesh wall that surrounded the stairwell to the lower floors. Conversation being a rare sight in the building, she raised her eyebrows, took a deep breath, and approached the crowd.

 "So what's up with Miss Peterson?" she asked, thumbing towards the mesh wall. Two older men and a middle-aged Hispanic woman looked up at her.

 "She's kicked Argyle out, Miss Dempsey," hissed the man on the left in a light, Eastern European accent. "I saw him taking the last of his things out a few days ago, and so did Mrs. Garcia and Mr. Campbell here."

Marie-Claire watched as the others nodded, and she raised her eyebrows. "Really? She seemed nicer than that when she introduced herself to me the other day. I thought she was just moving in. Of course, I was on my way to work so I didn't have time to talk to her --"

"She is the new owner!" spat Mr. Campbell. "It will mean trouble for us all!"

"Did you see the man she had with her?" whispered Mrs. Garcia, her voice high-pitched and strained. "That was a contractor! She was talking of tearing the walls out, of fixing the place up! Mr. Mustafi heard it all this morning!"

 The European nodded again. "She will kick us out, I am sure of it, or raise our rent so that we can no longer live here! I do not have anyplace else to go. I do not know what I will do."

Marie-Claire frowned, then turned and walked carefully halfway down the flight of stairs while the trio watched behind her. She stopped when she could hear the conversation of Miss Peterson and the contractor. "Are you sure we will have to tear the walls out?" The man cleared his throat.

"Well, not all of them, but most of them. The water damage and the gnawing from the rats is pretty extensive, and a lot of the wiring and frame will have to be replaced. We can put in more insulation when we do it, though, and seal things up so the rats won't have such an easy time getting in."

"And the extra bathrooms?" she asked, "will we be able to put those in like I showed you?"

He made a noise that made Marie-Claire picture him shrugging. "It will take some work and some time, and a lot of money, but I think we can do it. Luckily, your foundation is sound, so we have something to work with. Otherwise, I'd just say tear the whole place down."

Anna sighed. "I don't know what I will tell the tenants."

Marie-Claire's brow furrowed and she tip-toed back up the stairs.

"You're right," she whispered to the others, "I think we may have to start looking for someplace else to stay." The group mumbled among themselves some more, while Marie-Claire went back to her room, where she lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. The cat jumped up on her again.

"What are we going to do?" she said softly, petting the cat.

"I was just starting to get used to this place. I don't want to move again." She lay there for a few more minutes, her eyelids drooping from exhaustion, then finally she closed her eyes and dozed off again.

When she woke up again the clock read 2:00. Yawning, she sat up and looked about the room, blinking. The cat was asleep in one of the sunlight slits on the floor, so she walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured herself some orange juice from the refrigerator.

As she sipped at it, she stared at the door, her eyes narrowed in thought. Then she drained the glass, set it on the counter with a loud "clunk" and walked out the door, down the hall, down the stairs, and up to the first door where she pounded heavily with her fist.

"It's open," came the smiling voice from inside. Marie- Claire flung the door open and stopped. The apartment had been completely stripped. Anna Peterson, dressed in an old T-shirt and a holey pair of forest green sweat pants with her hair tied back in a matching green kerchief, was on her hands and knees, polishing the freshly-sanded, re-sealed and refinished floor with a light oil polish. The walls had been scrubbed down, mended and repainted, and the baseboards were shiny and dark and new. Marie-Claire stared.

Anna put the cap back on her polish bottle, put her rag over that, and stood up, wiping her hands off on her sweats before extending a hand to her awe-stricken tenant. She beamed a toothy smile as she walked up to Marie-Claire.

"I'm sorry, I was just finishing up. What can I do for you?"

Marie-Claire shut her mouth. "What did you do to the place?"

Anna turned around and looked about the room. Light coming through the Victorian lily patterned wrought iron at the windows revealed a large apartment with now cream-colored walls and mahogany woodwork, a far cry from the stained and run down slum-lord's abode it had just recently been. It even smelled faintly like vanilla and almonds.

"Oh, I've just been working on it a bit. There wasn't as much water or rat damage here, so we were able to get that work done quickly, and I could finish it up. Argyle must have thought the rest of the apartments were in this kind of condition, and that's why they weren't fixed sooner. I'm sure he would have fixed them if he had known."

Marie-Claire turned to Anna, her eyebrows raising in a shocked, incredulous expression. "Yeah, whatever. Are you related to the guy in 3J?"

Anna turned back to her, smiling. "Constable Fraser? No. Do you think we look alike?"

Marie-Claire laughed a small laugh in the back of her throat. "No, just noticed some other similarities. How did you get it to smell like this?"

"I put vanilla and almond oil in the paint." She giggled, and lowered her voice to sound something like a television announcer's. "They're not just for cooking anymore." Then she turned to Marie-Claire again, her brows shifting downwards to make her look more serious and motherly. "Now, you came down for a reason. What can I do for you?"

Marie-Claire blinked, swallowed, then hardened her jaw and spoke. "We want to know what you're doing. With the contractors and everything."

 Anna sighed and looked away. "I knew this was going to happen. The contractor said there is a lot of damage, and it will take weeks to fix, so no one can be around. There's going to be a lot of changes around here, and I'm afraid that I am going to have to ask everyone to --"

"No!" yelled Marie-Claire, her French-Canadian accent coming through a little, "you can't just kick us out like that!"

Anna looked down again, her brow puckered and her mouth pursed. "I know it will be inconvenient, and I'm sorry.

But I found a motel that will --"

Miss Dempsey gasped. "You're kicking us out to a MOTEL?! Oh, and then we are just supposed to find our own places from there? How low can you go?! Just because we don't have leases--"

Anna gasped, her eyes widening and her fingers covering her mouth again. "Oh, no!" she said, "I'm not kicking you out like that! Is that what you were all thinking? Oh, I am so sorry! I will have to explain to everyone. Oh, I feel terrible. I was just going to move everyone to the motel while they did the renovation. It'll be pretty expensive, but I think I can handle it right now. I just wanted to get all the repairs done at once."

Marie-Claire's eyes grew big again. "You are paying for all that?" Then her face and voice re-hardened. "How much is our rent going up?"

Anna looked shocked again. "It's not going up at all! You guys have been paying enough to cover everything. Argyle must have been just saving up to cover the whole thing, or waiting for permission for the previous owner. I got a good deal, though, and I have a little extra money available to me right now, so I figured I could do it now. Of course, some of you have been paying a little extra. I am going to have to run some of those down...probably some odd contracts. But no, rents won't go up. I'm just trying to do my job."

Marie-Claire stared at her again. "Are you SURE you're not related to the Mountie?"

 

"Thanks for helping me move my stuff in here, Ray." The slender Italian exhaled heavily as he dropped the large duffel onto the cheap motel bed, causing it to creak loudly in protest.

"I can't believe she is putting all of you up in here. She can't be seriously fixing up that whole building."

Fraser nodded. "It's very generous of her, I would say."

Ray pulled his face tight, grimacing and showing his teeth. 

"I don't know about that, Fraser. Not too many people would do something like this without some kind of payback expected sooner or later."

Fraser frowned. "She seems entirely sincere in her intentions, Ray. In fact, she seems to feel awfully guilty about the inconvenience all the remodelling has caused."

Ray puffed out a derisive laugh. "Oh, yeah, I'll bet she bought everyone presents and apologised profusely."

Benton's eyebrows lifted. "Well, actually...."

Vecchio's eyes grew wide. "You've got to be joking, Fraser!"

"Well, not exactly presents, ," said Fraser, crossing the room to pick up a smallish, white paper bag that had been set on top of the cheaply veneered dresser. 

"But she did make us all a nice dinner and gave us each bags of, well, cookies."

Ray's eyebrows tilted at an incredible slope, his still-wide eyes wrinkling at the corners in disbelief. "This woman is making me very nervous, Fraser. Nobody is that nice. Except you. And you're Canadian; you can't help it."

"Miss Peterson seems exceptionally polite, though, Ray. And very concerned about her tenants. She even rented storage for everyone's furniture during the remodelling. In fact, Miss Peterson...."

"Enough!" shouted Ray, throwing out his hands. "I don't want to hear any more about Miss Peterson!"

Benton's entire posture slumped, ever so slightly, and the bag he held in his hand dropped to his side. "Oh," he said, then glanced at the bag. "Oh, dear."

"What?" demanded Ray, looking intensely at Fraser and then glancing down at the bag.

"Well, she asked me to give these to you."

Ray glanced at the bag again. "To me? Cookies?"

Fraser held the bag out to him. "About a dozen, give or take. She said you were so helpful in moving me, especially with it being the weekend, and in coming over all the time, that you deserved it."

Ray swallowed hard, then took the bag and glanced into it. "Are they any good?"

Fraser's eyebrows drifted upwards again. "Remarkably so. In fact, I daresay they are the best I have ever tasted."

"She made these herself?"

"They were still warm when she gave them to us, Ray."

Ray's look had softened a little, the eyebrows tilting softly down on the sides, but his eyes still held tight little wrinkles around the outside. He glanced towards the window, and kept his gaze there for a few moments more.  

"She is making me very nervous, Fraser."

"Ah."

There was a few more moments of silence, then Ray sighed heavily and headed towards the door again. "We get everything?"

"Yes, Ray."

"Okay, then I've got to be going." When he opened the door, Diefenbaker was sitting right in the doorway, greeting him with a soft whimper and droopy-eyed glances between the cop's face and the bag in his hand.

"He wants your cookies. Don't give him any; he's finished his own bag and has been begging from everyone else all evening."

Diefenbaker's whimper deepened into a disappointed growl-whine. Ray cocked an eyebrow and glanced back at Benton, who was watching his wolf and shaking his head. "Now he's going to be up all night. Chocolate always makes him, well, rather hyper."

Ray rolled his eyes and grabbed the doorknob as he was leaving the room. "G'night, Benny. See you Monday."

"Goodnight, Ray."

 

Ray sighed as he hung up the phone and crossed another name from the list on the desk in front of him as Ben walked in, dressed in a sharp, dark brown uniform, and sat with a hyper-perfect posture in the opposing chair. Ray looked at him with a slightly exasperated glare.

"How do they make you wear that all day, Fraser?"

Fraser shifted in his chair. "Well, they had me working inside the consulate today. I think that the recent heat- related death tolls may have had something to do with that."

"Mm," Ray acknowledged, then glanced around at the floor around the feet of the Mountie. "Where's the wolf?"

"Willie's watching him. Diefenbaker refused to go with me to the consulate today...I think this weather is making him rather irritable."

Ray's eyes widened. "You could tell?"

"Well, that and the recent move. He really doesn't like being told what to do...."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Welsh has been on my butt about the cases on my desk, I have hardly had time to even look at the Barrows case in the last two weeks...I think the trail may be getting cold."

Ben's eyebrows lifted. "So, we have evidence to point to murder now? And you have been given the case?"

Only Ray's eyes shifted, momentarily rising to glare at his friend and then moving back to the papers in front of him without a word of acknowledgment. "I haven't been given the case yet, in an official sense," he murmured, "but...."

At that point a slender, dark-eyed, and dark-skinned young woman wearing long, dark, curly hair and a blue uniform marked "Civilian Aid" came up to the desk, smiling at the Mountie.

"Hi, Fraser. How you been?"

"Elaine..." said Ray, unheard.

"Just fine, thank you kindly, Elaine."

"The heat must be unbearable in that place of yours. Do you need a place to stay that's a little cooler? I --"

"Elaine!" barked Ray, pulling her attention to him. Her smile faded into a wry smirk. Ben turned back to his friend, blinking, clearing his throat, and pulling at the collar around his neck.

"Elaine, did you get that list I asked you for?"

One narrow eyebrow arched and her mouth twisted to one side for a moment, uncannily like an offended feline. "Maybe."

Ray rolled his eyes. "OK, I'm sorry Elaine. I really appreciate you."

Her mouth twisted to the other side and she sighed. "Oh, all right. I found the list...it wasn't easy, either. But I think it is the complete list of Leonard Barrows' investments, properties, holdings, and what we could gather of his suspected illegal workings. And all the local newspaper articles on his death, will and funerals."

Ben leaned forward and took the file from her hands. "Thank you kindly, Elaine."

She smiled at him again before walking away. "Anytime."

Ray rolled his eyes again. "Now if you would just stop flirting with the staff...."

"What?" said Fraser, motioning to Elaine and turning slightly red. "No, I wasn't...I was just...Ray, you know I would never...."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you would never. That's why I gotta say it. Now let me see that list."

They pulled the list from the file and each leaned across the desk to simultaneously peruse it.

"He certainly seemed to earn a lot of money from cars and property investments, Ray. Are you sure he --"

Ray held up a hand. "Trust me on this, Fraser. He earned a lot from legit businesses after he earned the capital from the crooked ones. It takes money to make money, and it makes it look legit."

"Mm," said Fraser, nodding as if to acknowledge his friends wisdom. As he continued reading the list, though, his brow puckered and the tone in his voice changed, deepened. "Mm."

"What, 'mm?'" demanded Ray, his eyes following Fraser's finger to the point of interest.

"Mm!" he muttered in agreement. "He owned your apartment building!" Fraser nodded in agreement. Ray looked at him, a theory shining through his hazel eyes. "That means your new landlady must have inherited the place...."

Fraser nodded and pulled the news clippings from the file, flipping through them until he found what he was looking for in the form of a picture of a now-familiar dark-haired girl, dressed in a black blouse and long dark skirts, her eyes hidden by dark glasses and her face half-hidden by a handkerchief she was holding to her mouth. "`Anna Peterson, niece of the deceased....'" he read, but Ray grabbed the

article from his hand before he could read more.

 "His niece!" he cried, staring at the picture, unable to stop the grin from drawing up the left side of his mouth. "And look at this! `Rumour has it that Miss Peterson is to inherit a good portion of the Barrows estate.' Can you believe it? And she was right under our nose this whole time!"

"Ray, I don't think...."

"Come on, Benny, now is no time to be chivalrous. She had the perfect motive. Who knows what she is doing with your building right now."

Fraser's brow was still puckered. "No, Ray, I really don't think she...."

Ray put his hands up to stop him, shaking his head as he did so. "All right, Fraser. You're right, this evidence is merely circumstantial. But now with this info, I know where we can go to get some hard evidence. Come on." And without another word, Ray walked briskly from the room, followed by Fraser, his brow still puckered, and words of protest still coming from his mouth.

 

"No, you'll make yourself sick. 

Diefenbaker whimpered, putting his head on his paws and looking up at Anna with pale yellow drooping eyes. He lay at her feet on the salt-pocked cement porch in front of their building, with the

blistering sun beating down on them both. She simply huffed through her nose and fixed her fists on her hips between black bicycle shorts and a grey tank top that had seen better days.

"Oh, piffle, don't give me that look, either." She blew a puff of air at a strand of hair that was coming loose from the black bicycle helmet that made her look more like a soldier in some futuristic army than a cyclist. "It's not going to work and you know it." She looked at him straight in the eyes for a few moments more, then wavered and lifted her head to look instead at the young black boy that stood at the bottom of the stairs.

He wore overlarge denim shorts, a brown T-shirt with some maniacal cartoon character emblazoned across the front, and a reversed baseball cap with the tag still flapping in the light and ineffective breeze. One hand held a half-eaten chocolate muffin while the other was trying to hide a large grin.

"I don't know why you keep bringing him by here, Willie. You're only giving in to his tendencies to manipulate."

"Hey!" exclaimed the pre-teen, dropping the grin, "I can't help it! I have to walk him twice a day and you should try making him go where he doesn't wanna go." Anna sighed and glanced at the wolf again. He was still staring at her.

"Besides," said Willie, his mouth full of muffin, "it's not my fault you live in his building and bake like Sara Lee."

Red rushed up Anna's pale neck and flooded her face. "Oh, piffle. I'm not that...." she looked at Dief again, and shifted the weight on her feet, just slightly. "Oh, I'll see what I can whip up for you tomorrow, Diefenbaker." The lupine instantly barked, leaped to his feet, and wagged his tail.

The front door to the building suddenly opened, and Anna shifted the black racing bike propped near the door to allow Marie-Claire through. The girl with auburn hair wore a white T-shirt and a loose pair of jeans. She nodded acknowledgment and motioned with her left arm holding three large books.

"That's some collection you've got in there."

Anna smiled and shrugged. "I'm an assistant English professor. I collect books like plants collect sunlight. You can feel free to borrow whatever, whenever."

 MC's eyes narrowed and she eyed her landlady for a few moments. "Thanks," she said quietly. Then, spice returning to her demeanour, she grinned wryly and held up a muffin the mirror of Willie's. "And this?"

Anna giggled, looking down and ruffling the fur on the top of Dief's head. "Well, I like to eat, so I bake. But I can't eat it all, so I give it away."

"I'll be by to help you get rid of the extra," said Willie with a smile and nod like a great benefactor.

Anna looked halfway up and smiled at him, cocking an eyebrow. "I thought you would."

Marie-Claire walked a few steps down to leave, then turned back with a grin to Anna. "I bake sometimes, too," she offered, "Maybe we could swap recipes sometime."

 Anna smiled, her eyes flinching only slightly at seeing Willie behind Marie-Claire, frantically waving his arms, shaking his head and mouthing, "NO! NO!"

"I'd like that," said Anna, and Willie's head drooped. MC walked the rest of the way down the stairs with only a slight limp to join Willie. Dief trotted to her side and the trio turned to go.

"Have fun, you guys," Anna called, waving. "See you tomorrow."

Willie waved back and the oddly mixed trio continued down the sidewalk to the sound of panting, footsteps and a light occasional shuffle, until they disappeared around the corner. As Anna watched them go, her smile faded and creases formed between her eyebrows. When they were gone from view, she blinked shining eyes a few times and took a deep breath that smelled of hot asphalt, dust and car exhaust. Then she picked her bike up under her arm and headed down the steps.

She hadn't quite made it down the block when she was stopped by two dark-haired men dressed in dark linen suits, just getting out of a late-model BMW. She stood, straddling the bar of her bike, and smiled at them. 

"May I help you gentlemen?"

"Yes," said the taller one. His eyes were as dark as his hair, and his smooth tones and pleasing face belied the half- smirking grin on his lips and the cold narrowness to his eyes.

"We're former business associates of your Uncle Leonard. We were wondering if we could talk to you about some of the transactions he left behind."

Anna's eyebrows settled downwards and she glanced at the shorter man, with his yellow-green eyes, pocked and scarred face and mashed nose. Then she smiled again. "Sure. Why don't you gentlemen come on back to my place?"

Across the street, Ray lifted his head from where it rested on the steering wheel and he pointed towards the girl leading her bike back towards the apartment building, followed closely by the two men.

"Look at that, Fraser, what did I tell you?"

Fraser frowned. "What is it, Ray?"

"The tall one is Tommy Larocca, former bookie and big-time thug. The grunt with him is Evan Bristow, and he didn't get his nose broken 14 times from boxing."

Fraser looked at his friend, his brows tilted in a questioning expression. "Ray, that doesn't prove anything."

Ray gasped. "Doesn't prove anything - ! Fraser, those are two of the biggest hitters in Barrow's former business. And I don't mean the auto shop. This definitely ties her to the illegal side of Barrows' life."

 

Benton frowned more deeply, squinting his eyes against theglare as he watched Anna enter the building with the two infamous men. "Even Christ dined with the publicans and sinners, Ray," he muttered.

 "What? What was that? Public inns? Benny, you gotta learn to stay on the subject." 

Twenty minutes later, as they continued to watch, the two men emerged, turned, and walked down the way they had come. The looks on their faces could have been a royal straight flush or a six high hand, so it was impossible to tell how the interview had gone. Ben tapped Ray on the shoulder.

"Why don't we go and talk to her, Ray?"

Ray sat back up, shifting uncomfortably on the hot vinyl seat. "I don't think it'll do any good, Fraser. I mean, what's she gonna tell us? That she is a murderer and a mob boss? No! She's gonna tell us how nice we look today and oh isn't it too hot for us to be outside and wouldn't we like some lemonade!"

His voice had raised in volume as he spoke until you could almost see the veins sticking out from his neck. Fraser looked at him quietly, his eyes open and sympathetic under raised brows. "Ray, if I didn't know better, it would seem like you have something against this girl. I can't see --"

Ray cut him off with a voice much quieter but just as intense as his previous yelling. "I just don't like women pretending to be something they're not. Pretending to be your best friend, or your lover, when they are really just out to destroy you and take away everything you have. Those are women I like to see put behind bars, Fraser, and she's going down. I'm not letting that...." He stopped before he finished thesentence, looking back out the window. Fraser's eyes had narrowed, dropping to watch the dashboard, and his lips had thinned into a hard line. There was a heavy silence in the car.

"Sorry," said Ray softly.

Fraser looked up at him. "This isn't her. This is a different case, Ray. If we let our fears from the past bind us, we can never move forward." 

Ray didn't look at him. "Let's go in and talk to her, then."

Benton nodded silently and they left the car and approached the building. When they reached the foot of the steps, however, Anna was walking her bike out again.

"Why, hello! Constable Fraser, Detective Vecchio! How are you two doing today?"

"Just fine, Miss Peterson," answered Benton, returning her smile. "And you?"

"Oh, I'm just fine. Trying to get a little cycling in."

Suddenly, she paused, and stretching her neck forward and squinting, she looked past them to an object across the street. "Is that your car?"

The two officers turned to follow her gaze to the large green car across the street where they had just come from. There was a brief pause. "Yeah, it's my car," said Ray, his words coming through in sarcastically twisted tones.

Anna glided quickly down the stairs with the bike under one arm and peered more closely, then turned to Ray with excitement in wide eyes and a broad smile. "That's a 1971 Buick Riviera, isn't it? Wow! Can I take a closer look?"

Ray smiled slightly in spite of himself, then forced his lips down again. "I guess you could take a look at it. But watch the paint. And no looking under the hood!"

Anna bounded across the street like a child, even with the forgotten bicycle still under her arm. Ray and Fraser followed more slowly.

"So she knew the make and model," said Ray quietly with a slight shrug, "so what. Now she is fawning all over it, just to get on my good side. But she's a girl; she doesn't know that car from a Tonka truck. I could tell her it was made out of a new kind of tinfoil and she would believe me."

"Mm," replied Fraser.

They reached the car, where she was peering in the windows and around the body carefully and slowly, her eyes intense and her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Wow," she gasped quietly. "This thing is in mint condition! Aside from the small holes, of course --

bullets, huh? But you have got those filled in pretty well." Ray's eyes widened.

"Of course," said Fraser, smiling so that his cheeks pushed his eyes into narrow beams, "Detective Vecchio loves his car."

Anna nodded. As she rounded a corner, peering in a side window, she squealed in delight. "Oh, you have the original lighter! Those are SO hard to find!"

Ray's eyes widened. "Fraser!" he hissed to his friend, "she knows the lighter!"

Fraser nodded. "She certainly does, Ray."

"My uncle and I were trying to put together one of these before he died," she said, unaware of the quiet conversation going on on the other side of the car. "But we couldn't find all the parts. We got really excited last year when we heard about a complete body up near Canada, but it had been completely trashed. Looked like someone shot the gas tank and blew it up! Shame to happen to such a classic car."

"Yes," said Ray, glaring at Fraser, "that is a shame."

Suddenly, Anna's watch beeped. "Oh, dear!" she said, glancing at her watch. "I have to finish this bicycle trek before I have to go in to the University for a departmental meeting." She walked quickly around the car and shook hands with each of them in turn. "Thank you so much for dropping by. I love to see people! And thank you so very much for letting me see your car, Ray! It was a delight! I hope to see you both later!" 

With that she got on her bike and started slowly down the road, carefully checking traffic and giving hand signals when she veered across the street.

"I was impressed," said Fraser, both in words and in the wayhis mouth peered down and his eyes widened.

"You would be," said Ray, frowning more intensely as he watched her leave through narrowed eyes, "though that also proved that she had the know-how and the access to tamper with her Uncle's car, which is, if you will remember, the way he was killed."

Anna, down at the corner, suddenly turned her head back and yelled, "Next time you come, I'll make lemonade!"

Ray rolled his eyes and opened his car to climb inside, with Benton following suit. "If she's not as guilty as sin," he snapped, "then she's related to you."

Benton blinked, his eyes squinting in a confused manner. "I don't follow you. What does any of this have to do with genetics? And she isn't even from Canada."

Ray started the car and started down the road. "You never follow me, Fraser. Someone should give you Canadians lessons in humour. 'Sarcasm 101.'"

"I think that would be highly unnecessary, Ray."

"That's why you would flunk out, Fraser."

\-----------

 

Once in the car, the conversation started again. "All the evidence points to her, Benny."

"No it doesn't, Ray. It's all strictly circumstantial, and nothing we have even points to a murder."

"Fine, then you give me a theory."

The Mountie pursed his lips. "Well, I don't quite --"

"Ha! See!"

"No, Ray! We haven't even looked at any of the other inheritors! I'm sure that when more evidence comes to light, we'll find --"

"That she's guilty."

Fraser sighed. "Honestly, Ray, I just don't think that's fair."

"Fair?! Who said anything about fair? Is it fair that she is running around loose, fooling everyone with her smiles and kind words, while she's plotting against them? I don't think so!"

Benton frowned. "So where are we heading now?" asked Benton.

"Barrow's kids. They've gotta know something, and they aren't answering my phone calls."

"Mmm."

\---------------

 

"She spent the last couple of years buttering him up, getting him to change his will," said the blonde as she blew a puff of cigarette smoke into the air. She moved the cigarette down to her side to leave a trail of curling smoke behind her as she walked across the room, silhouetted in front of the large bay windows. She sat in an overstuffed black leather chair and looked back at the odd mix of the plain-clothes detective and uniformed mountie.

"By 'she,' you mean...." asked Fraser, gesturing with the stetson he held in his right hand. She glanced him over for a full minute with a light smile on her lips before she looked him in the face and answered.

"Anna, of course. The conniving little wench."

The left half of Ray's mouth turned up in a grin, and he glanced at Fraser, who frowned again. Still grinning, Ray turned back to the blonde. "So, Ms. Barrows, you're saying that she isn't all that she seems, is that right?"

The blonde laughed, showing teeth that had been yellowed and artificially whitened behind dark lipstick. "Nobody is that nice and good. Tell me this, detective: if you wanted to get your hands on an easy few million, and you had a rich uncle, what would you do?"

Ray's grin spread across his face and he nodded surely. "I'd get real cozzie and sweet as sugar candy."

The woman smiled at him. "Exactly. Anna spent half her time in Chicago in that garage, talking shop and messing with those stupid clunker cars of his. The last few months before he died, she was the only one he allowed in the garage, he kept it locked up and gave her the only other key. Said she was the only one who 'gave his babies the proper respect,' but if you ask me, I think he was getting paranoid. Not about the right person, though."

The last sentence was said with an unmistakable sneer.

Fraser cleared his throat. "May we see the garage in question, ma'am?"

She shrugged blue silk-covered shoulders. "Sure. The appraisers are the only ones that have been in there since the accident, so everything should be as they left it."

Ray and Fraser looked at each other, then Fraser donned his hat and they both followed the woman out of the large, ornately decorated house to the immense garage behind the place.

The woman unlocked the side door and let them in. Fraser paused at the door, minutely examining the door knob and jamb. Ray looked back at him and Ben shook his head. "No sign of forced entry or residue on the latch."

Once inside, the smell of motor oil and rubber filled the air. A dozen shining cars, including a variety of Porsches and classic domestics, took center stage for the majority of the immaculate garage. Ray whistled his appreciation. 

"He had quite the collection."

Fraser immediately headed towards the one space in the queue, and Vecchio jumped to follow.

"These were just his personal favourites," said the blonde, crushing out her cigarette in the ashtray by the door. "The show pieces and investments he kept in a guarded warehouse downtown."

Fraser stooped over a few small puddles of fluid in the empty parking space. "These are the only spills here," he said, gesturing over the distinct, multi-colored drippings, "the other cars are clean underneath."

"He cleaned this garage out every other week. Never let the cars drip, anyway."

Fraser nodded. "That explains why the spots haven't absorbed into the concrete to any great extent. Where is the car that is usually parked here?"

 "That's where he kept the MG, the car he was driving the day he died." Fraser raised his eyebrows.

"So, what do we got here, then?" asked Ray, bending over to touch some of the drippings, but Fraser grabbed his hand.  

"No, Ray," he bent over the spot and sniffed. "Acid."

"Acid!" The blonde, standing behind them, gasped loudly.

Fraser nodded. "Hydrochloric acid, if I am not mistaken. A fairly strong mixture of it. Not easily obtainable."

Ray stood. "Unless you have access to a lab....like a University lab."

Fraser looked at him with down-angled eyes. "Yes...."

"Yes!" yelled Ray, then regained his composure as the woman looked at him oddly.

"What are you saying?" she asked, looking at him from under a pinched brow.

"Well, we are merely, uh, working on some theories surrounding your father's death. Could we look around here for a few minutes, alone?"

She nodded. "Of course. Just lock the door behind you when you leave."

The woman left and Fraser looked up at Ray. "There are two spills of pressure-system fluids, probably the steering fluid as well as the brake fluid. Acid would sever the lines more slowly and make it look naturally worn. The river would have washed away all traces of the acid. Whoever did this made sure Leonard Barrows had no safety left in his car, and that it would look like an accident."

"What do you mean, 'whoever,' Fraser! We know who did this! The clues just keep adding up and pointing in the same direction."

The Mountie's brow dropped and jaw hardened with concern as he got up and began to examine the shelves of tools and supplies on the back wall. "I refuse to believe that yet, Ray. Miss Peterson is not the type who...." He stopped, picking up something from the shelf in front of him.

"Yeeeeeesss? Who what?" said Ray, coming up to peer over the Mountie's shoulder after a pause. "What did you...." 

Fraser held a note that he had pulled from an envelope on the shelf. "Anna," it said, "I'm going to take the MG out this afternoon, for a spin down River Road. I will be leaving at 4:00, if you aren't there, I will leave without you. But I know how you love taking some of those curves at really outrageous speeds. Not that I go over the speed limit, of course. Hope to see you then. --Uncle Len."

"It's not dated," said Fraser.

"He went off the road into the River! Fraser, this is just what we need! I know you want to keep your rosy view of your new landlady, but the roses just went to seed."

Fraser frowned, peering back at something pushed behind the shelves. Reaching back, he pulled up a brown bottle that had nothing left of the label but the clear musilage adhesive. He unstoppered the top and pulled back at the smell.

"Hydrochloric acid?" asked Ray.

Fraser nodded, then pulled something from the musilage and frowned at it in the light.

Ray smiled at the long brown hair that dangled from his friend's fingers.

"Let's go get a warrant."

 

A Simon and Garfunkel song filled the room, muffling the heavy pounding and whirring of power tools coming through the ceiling from the construction being performed on the upper floors. Anna Peterson bent over a photo album, placing photos in with small plastic corners as her brown hair hung like a curtain around her face. Sunlight from the window flickered every time a vehicle drove by, and each time she stopped her humming along with the music and glanced up at the grandfather clock on the opposite wall.

A heavy knock came to the door. She sat up straight and took a deep breath, almost a sigh. "Come in."

The door opened and Tommy LaRocca and Evan Bristow walked briskly in.

"We got your message," said Tommy, unable to suppress a frown while he pulled at his jacket over his slender figure. 

"We came over to persuade you to reconsider."

 She turned in her chair to face them, only the trace of a smile left. "The subject is not up for debate, gentlemen. I don't have the information you seek, and I desire no such business arrangements. I'm afraid you will have to seek other means of capital."

Her eyes followed them as they approached her, not stopping until there was one of them close in on either side of her. 

"You don't understand, Miss Peterson," said Tommy in a low voice, "You have information that is vital to our organisation. You don't have to join the partnership, but that information is rightfully ours and I know that it would be in your best interest to relinquish it."

She stood, matching her five-foot-seven frame against his six feet and staring him down with eyes of blue ice. "I told you, I do not have the information you seek. If my Uncle Leonard had such information, he never told me about it, and I would have no idea where he would hide it."

 As she spoke, her hand moved back to close the photo album, but Evan caught her hand, sneering broadly. "What's this?" he said angrily, "what are you trying to hide?"

Her colour darkened and she glanced back and forth from the album to the men. "Nothing. They're just pictures. That's all."

Tommy snatched the album up and glanced at the page she had been so hasty to cover. "Looks like you and Leonard, real cosy-like. All at the same place. Evan, you recognise that place?"

Evan looked at the picture. "Yeah, Tommy, ain't that Barrows' old place, out on the North end? Always wondered why he never got rid of the old hole."

Tommy grabbed Anna's arm, and she paled, though still looking his straight in the eye. He smiled, a thin, cruel smile. "I think I might know why he never sold it. And this pretty young thing is going to help enlighten us as to the details."

\----------

"I'm sorry you didn't get the warrant, Ray."

 Ray's steps were a little more brisk than usual as he bounded up the cement stairs to the building. "I was just a little ahead of myself, Benny. But we're going to get the evidence now that will put her away."

Benny, with Diefenbaker right behind him, followed more slowly up the stairs. He seemed to squeeze his face together; pushing his eyes into narrow slits with his cheeks as he scrutinised his friend. "Yes, I'm sure that she would cooperate fully, if you ask her."

Ray turned to glare at his companion as he opened the door.

"Sometimes I wonder why I even hang out with you, Benny."

\--------

After repeating the knock on the door with still no answer, Ray lifted his foot to kick the door in.

"Wait, Ray!"

The detective turned with a wide-eyed glare. "What! Afraid of hurting her door?"

Fraser tilted his head slightly, still squinting at his friend.

"No, Ray, her door's unlocked." He turned the worn, round knob easily and the door swung inward.

"What, did you smell that? No, no, let me guess, you heard it!"

Fraser shook his head, partially as a negative response, and partially in disbelief at his friend's more-irritated-than- normal behaviour. "She told us that whenever we needed anything, if this latch above the knob was turned vertically, the door would be open. That's all, Ray."

"Fine," snapped the detective, sweeping into the room. A quick glance confirmed the obvious. "She's not here, Ray."

"I can see that, Fraser. Let's see what we can find."

"But, Ray, we don't have a warrant."

"I know that! We can get one later. It's just that right now we...." he stopped, glancing about the room. "No wonder you like this woman, Fraser! She lives in a library! She probably acts like your grandmother, too."

Fraser tilted the edges of his mouth downwards and nodded in agreement as he looked at the walls of books in the room, broken only by two small iron-grated windows, a tall four- poster mahogany bed and an old studio piano that was topped by various pictures and a CD player, still playing. What little other furniture there was sat on oriental rugs in the center of the room, away from the bookshelves. The whole place smelled lightly of vanilla, nutmeg, and warm baked goods. Diefenbaker began sniffing about the room and rummaging through the lower cupboards.

Ray moved much more slowly, as if defused, to the table where the photograph album lay and began flipping through it. Benton moved to join him, then paused, lifting up his head and scrunching his face, his eyes searching for something."

"Ray, what song is this?"

"Hm?" said Ray, only momentarily lifting his head from the album without taking his eyes from it. "Oh, this is 'Mrs. Robinson,' by Simon and Garfunkel. You know, from the 60's,

The Graduate, all that stuff."

Benton tilted his head to the side again. "It just restarted itself. Why would she have the CD play just this one song, over and over? 

Ray now lifted his head and gave the same searching/listening expression that his friend had given.

"Don't know Fraser, maybe she likes the song. That line about the cupcakes reminds me of those cookies."

Fraser's eyes widened. "That's it, Ray! It's a clue, she left it for someone."

"What? Fraser, it's just a song!" But Fraser was already looking through the cupboards.

"Look at this, Ray! Cupcakes!" Ray shook his head and came over to look over his friend's shoulder as he pulled a muffin tin from the top shelf, with three white-frosted cupcakes and a note inside.

After perusing it quickly, he voiced to his partner, "Remarkable! Listen to this, Ray:

'Guys: actually, I hope you don't need to see this. But I think that Evan and Tommy killed my Uncle, and now they think I have the same information my uncle had. If things are going the way I planned, then we are at 14421 N. Anderson. Please hurry. Thanks. -Anna.

'p.s. and you can have the cupcakes. Hope you like yellow cake.'

Ray and Fraser, speechless, looked at each other. "It may still be a trap," said Ray, but the edge was gone from his voice.

Suddenly, Diefenbaker whimpered loudly in the corner.

"What is it, Dief?" asked Fraser, quickly walking over to glance at what his wolf was pawing around. It was the edge of a bookshelf, it's contents knocked a little loose. He dabbed at the spot Dief had indicated and glanced at the stain it left on his finger.

"It's blood, Ray. Someone has been thrown up against this bookshelf, quite violently, and recently, I might add."

For a moment, Ray's entire countenance dropped, then he ran for the door. "I'll get the Riv. You make sure the door gets shut."

 

The Riviera pulled to a stop by the curb in the older suburban neighbourhood, quiet and tree-lined. Fraser twisted his head to glance two houses back.  

"That was Larocca and Bristow's car, Ray."

"I know," agreed his partner, pulling out his 9mm Beretta and checking the clip before putting it back under his jacket where it could be easily reached. He picked up his radio receiver and made a quick request for backup, then turned back to his friend. "You go around front, I'll go around back."

Fraser nodded, and all three of them, counting the wolf, silently and efficiently exited the car and headed towards the house as though they had visited here a thousand times before. Passing under a window enroute to the back door when he heard the sudden whack of flesh on flesh.

"Where is it! I'm getting tired of getting the runaround from you, girl!"

There was a light coughing, followed by an even, clipped female voice. "I don't even know exactly what you are looking for, Mr. Larocca. Now, I'm sure if we...."

"SHUTTUP!!!" came the frustrated yell. "Look," he said, his volume more controlled but rife with tension, "we killed your Uncle for the same information, don't think we won't hesitate in killing you. I don't think we'll have to do that, though, because we have set up enough evidence to pin you for the crime, and if death doesn't scare you, then maybe prison will."

Ray's eyebrows tilted at an incredibly narrow angle while he listened to the conversation. Then there were footsteps inside, a short whispered message, and Tommy's ranting again, apparently to the person who just entered, "Then keep looking, you moron! It's gotta be here somewhere!"

Ray ran quickly to the back door and, after trying the knob, kicked it open and ran towards the room from which he had heard the voices.

"Freeze!" he yelled, pointing the gun at Larocca, who instantly threw his hands into the air and dropped his jaw in amazement. Anna sat on the floor against the wall, her hands tied tightly in front of her with a thick, coarse rope and her hair hanging roughly about her face. She looked right at Ray and her blue eyes crinkled with a smile that re-opened her split lip and caused blood to well up at the wound.

"Dammit!" muttered Tommy, then turned to Anna, his lip pulling back in an expression of pure hatred. The young lady lifted her head to look at him coldly. "What did you do? You set us up!"

"I have good friends," she answered flatly as the Italian cuffed the mobster.

Suddenly, with a bark, Diefenbaker entered the room, running straight towards Anna. She smiled again, reaching out her constrained fingers to scratch behind his ears as he licked her arms. "Hey, Dief, I'm glad to see you, too."

Fraser appeared in the doorway. "Ray, is everything...."

"Bristow's still in the house somewhere, Fraser." 

Ben nodded and turned just in time to be tackled by a mass of sinew and bone, knocking him from the doorway and out of sight. Everyone left in the room winced at the ensuing grunts and slams of the fight, followed by a moment's silence and then Constable Fraser leading a thoroughly subdued man into the room, held by a wrist lock.

"Uh, Ray, can we--"

Ray pulled a second set of handcuffs from his pocket. "Got 'em right here, Bennie."

Within seconds, both of the mobsters were bound and Vecchio had read them their rights, and Benton was kneeling next to Miss Peterson and untying her wrists while he examined the wound that left her hair clotted with blood on the right side of her head. His face pinched into a sympathetic wince. "The bookshelf?" he asked. 

She nodded, hissing as he removed the rope from her chafed wrists.

"I needed to leave enough evidence that you guys would search for the cupcakes, so I struggled." She laughed briefly. "Didn't think they'd be quite so rough, though."

Ray had come over to listen in, and now crouched in front of her. 

"So you did leave those clues for us? But how did you know we would even be in there?"

She laughed, then winced again as Fraser took his handkerchief from the leather case on his belt and pressed it against her head. "Even I would have suspected me, Ray!"

She turned briefly to Fraser. "Ow! Hasn't the bleeding stopped yet?"

"Sorry," he responded, "no, not quite." He turned to Vecchio. "She has a nasty concussion, Ray. We need to get her to an emergency room."

Ray nodded and both he and Fraser took one of her arms and helped her to her feet, and continued to hold on for a moment while she regained her balance. While they held her up, Ray glanced at his friend, who simply returned the look. Ray grimaced and cleared his throat.

"Miss Peterson...."

"You can call me Anna, Ray."

He cleared his throat again. "Anna, I'm sorry we suspected you. I totally had you pegged for the murderer. We were coming to arrest you."

She smiled up at him with a look as soft as summer rain. "That's ok. I knew you wouldn't let me down." She pulled her arms free.

"Now if you guys would just let me walk around a bit and get my senses back, we can be on our way."

Ray turned a face twisted with incredulity to his friend, who simply stretched the ends of his mouth downward and lifted his eyebrows in a shrugging gesture.

"Oh, this is all nice," spat the forgotten Larocca from where he sat on the floor. "Let her go, so she can use Barrows' gambling connections to make an illegal fortune, while we get put away." She stopped her walk by the doorway and turned to her former captors. "I told you I don't know where they are. I don't lie."

Fraser's brow folded. "What is this information they are after?"

Anna shrugged, leaning her back up against the door jamb. "I don't know. Some of my Uncle's illegal activities, I assume. But all he left me were a couple of his property holdings, his personal cars, and the legally obtained portion of his fortune. He knew I hated his seamier activities."

Ray snorted through his nose while half his mouth turned up in a sarcastic grin. "That must not have been much money, if you're already selling the cars."

Anna pulled her head back and looked at him with shock. "I'm not selling any of those cars! What gave you that idea?"

Fraser's eyes narrowed. "Well, you had them appraised...."

"I didn't have them appraised."

Ray and Bennie looked at each other. "Why would someone else have them appraised, then, if the cars weren't even theirs?" noted Fraser.

Suddenly from behind the doorway, Ms. Barrows stepped out, putting an arm around Anna's neck and holding a gun to her head. 

"Ms. Barrows!" exclaimed Ray and Bennie simultaneously.

"Tasha!" gasped Anna. "Why?"

Tasha shook her captive with a twist of her arm. "Shuttup, you stupid little goody-two-shoes!"

"Uh, be careful," noted Fraser, holding up his hand to caution the angry woman, "she has a nasty concussion."

Tasha Barrows snorted derisively. "So what. She'll be dead soon enough anyway." She looked to the two men against the wall. "And you two idiots! Can't you do anything right! Didn't my father teach you anything? It's a damn good thing I came down here to help you look!"

Anna raised her hand slightly. "Tasha, please don't swear."

Ms. Barrows growled and shook her cousin again, at which point Anna paled and her eyes rolled up into her head.

"Oh, dear," said Fraser, stepping forward to help.

"Back off!" yelled Tasha, pointing her gun at the Mountie instead while trying to hold her now-limp cousin up. The weight was throwing her balance off, though, and when she shifted her footing to regain it, the gun changed positions to point straight up in the air. Immediately, Anna's body stiffened, thrusting back against her cousin and knocking her back to hit the ground with a cry and a shot into the air. Ray, Fraser and Diefenbaker all jumped then, pinning the blonde down.

"I think that's the last of them, Ray."

"Let's certainly hope so, Fraser."

In the red flashing lights of the squad cars, Ray, Benton, Dief and Anna all walked towards the Riviera, Anna still holding her head.

"You sure you don't want us to call an ambulance?" asked Fraser. Anna shook her head.

"I'd rather not. As long as you don't mind, Ray."  

He shrugged. "Ah, might as well let you ride in the Riv just this once."

She smiled broadly. 

"By the way," Ray continued, "that was pretty cool, the way you faked that faint back there."

"Fainting is a symptom of a concussion, Ray," Fraser noted.

"I'm still not feeling too swift," added Anna. Both officers immediately drew closer.

"You okay to walk, then?"

"We'll make sure you get home in one piece."

Her steps faltered a few times before they reached the car, and strong hands on either side would grab her arms to steady her. Once they got to the car, she clambered into the back seat with Diefenbaker, who looked at her and gave a little whimper-bark while the men got into the front seat.

"Oh, hush," she whispered to the wolf. "It wasn'treally a lie."

He whuffed in his throat and glared at her. "Well, not really. I really don't feel so swift."

He still glared.  

"You have your fun, I'll have mine. Besides, who makes you those little cakes you love so well?"

Diefenbaker finally growled a grudging consent and turned to face forward.

"I can't believe she had that whole meal prepared and in the refrigerator for when we solved the case, Fraser!" 

Ray and Benton, now in more casual attire, walked from the building at 221 W. Racine into the sun. Dief followed them more slowly, licking his lips and repeatedly glancing back at the door.

"She seems to be in possession of great forethought, Ray. She was simply prepared."

Ray put his hand on his stomach. "Man, if my Mom knew that Anna cooked that well, she'd have a fit. Ma prides herself on being the best cook in Chicago."

Fraser nodded in acknowledgment, tucking the recently- borrowed book under his arm.

Ray looked at the book and shook his head. "Cousin."

Fraser, confused, looked back at his friend. "What?"

"Cousin. She's gotta be a cousin of yours."

Fraser shook his head.

"Long lost niece? Separated at birth? You guys have got to be related."

Benton shook his head again as they got to the car. "She's not related to me, Ray, I already told you that."

Ray paused after opening his door, then turned and spoke emphatically over the top of the car. "I know, I know! She's the reincarnation of your grandmother!"

Fraser stared at his friend over the car for a few moments of silence, then bent to get into the car.

"Now, that's just silly, Ray."

 

The End (maybe ;) )

 

 


End file.
